


Innovative Excellence in Engagement Maneuvers

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Play, Community: seasonofkink, F/M, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Pre-TFA, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe's finishing his first year at the academy when Leia presents him with the Lando Calrissian medal.</p><p>Things go from there. </p><p>(Pre-TFA, pretty much film canon only, no explicit reference to tie-in materials.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innovative Excellence in Engagement Maneuvers

**Author's Note:**

> entirely the fault of coffeeinallcaps, _viz:_
>
>>   
> **gloss:** before you go tell me what threesome i should write b/c i don't think this lando is happening  
>  **coffeeinallcaps:** han and leia wrecking poe  
>  **gloss:** mmmm a classic
> 
> thanks to G. for the superfast but brutal beta. ♥ 

The first time they fuck him, he's 19, this year's winner of the Lando Calrissian Medal for first-year cadets at the academy. Sick in bed with a head cold (Han will claim it's actually a botched cosmetic procedure), Lando asks Leia to present the award in his stead. 

Han is still around at this point and tags along to the academy's commencement and awards dinner. Whether he comes out of boredom or vague loyalty to Lando or what, no one, not even he, can really know.

The graduating cadets are a noisy bunch, and Poe, though just a newbie, seems to be their mascot. His award sees some of the biggest applause of the night. Afterwards they make him stay and sing terrible songs well past the end of the dinner.

"Dameron?" Han asks when Leia joins him at the table, finished with her official business on the dais. "Wasn't that...?"

She nods and pats his hand. "Yes."

Draped in royal blue, her hair piled atop her head, the braids threaded with her own silver as well as decorative gold filaments, she looks more beautiful than he can remember.

Poe would agree if they were to consult on the issue, but he's across the grand ballroom, being carried on a Nautolan's shoulders, using two tentacles as reins while they dance. 

He knows even then, however, that he'll always remember the warm squeeze of her hands around one of his while she congratulated him, the whisper of her dress as she pinned the medal to his uniform, the scent of alien flowers on her neck when she hugged him. _Your mother would be so proud,_ she'd whispered and Poe's grip tightened, just for a second, before he recovered his discipline and nodded, stepped back, bowed.

"Huh, you don't say," Han says, chin in his hand, elbow propped on the edge of the table. It's only at fancy events like this that his table manners become execrable; at home, he was the one to correct Ben; even out with friends, he is unremarkably polite. Go out as Mr. Organa, however, and he reverts to a cartoon version of old brash ways. "Time flying and all that. Dad around?"

"Couldn't make it, he says," she replies. "I asked him to come have a drink with us, however. To celebrate."

Han's gaze ticks over to meet hers. She's already chatting with some tight-assed old relic across the table. Bantha fat wouldn't melt in her mouth. He slips his hand across her back, where the skin is exposed, revealing her sharp little shoulder blades and bumpy spine. She shivers under his touch - he can feel that - but her conversation continues smoothly.

He's a goodlooking kid, Han will say that much, and does, a little later in the 'fresher when they find themselves alone.

"Thank you, sir," Poe says and his manners are irreproachable, even if there's something intangible about _how_ he says everything that suggests he's laughing his ass off at the whole situation. "Not sure I agree, but that's real nice of you."

"Make sure there's a bursary attached to that --" Han flicks at the medal on Poe's chest which -- of course -- features Lando in profile. "He can afford it."

Poe glances down. "This is for innovative excellence in maneuvers, I don't think there's money --"

"Engagement maneuvers. I know what it's for, kid," Han says. "I heard the announcement, too. He's never getting over the Battle of Taanab. Believe me, I know what Lando's about, too. Make sure you get some of the cash, there's sure to be some."

Poe bobs his head, smiling. "Yes, sir."

"Can that crap." Han waves his hands under the UV faucet, then leans against the counter, arms crossed, head cocked. "You kids getting up to anything interesting tonight? Parties once the olds are abed?"

Poe starts to put his hands in his trouser pockets, remembers he's in uniform, and, awkwardly, leans against the wall in a vague approximation of Han's casual stance. "Not that I've heard. Nothing you'd like, anyway."

Han's smile cuts sudden and bright. "I like _a lot_ of things, kid."

"Oh?"

"Oh," Han echoes and nods.

In years to come, when Poe's steadier on his feet and far better acquainted with how these things tend to develop, he'll look back on this moment and cringe. He's such a rube, still not quite filled out, all jutting angles and big ears, bigger nose, and while he thinks he knows how to flirt - he has already slept with _seven_ sentients, thanks very much - he is sorely mistaken about that.

Because Han Solo just slides his eyes up and down Poe, messy curls down to uniform boots half a size too small, and his mouth tilts into a smirk, and Poe just says, again, the only noise he seems to know how to make any longer: " _Oh_."

Han backs him up against the door, bracing his hand over Poe's shoulder to keep it closed, and kisses him. Poe's already a good kisser, but this is a whole other league, warm and mobile and dizzying, like his tongue's lighting up Poe's spine, even his balls, definitely his prostate. He clutches at Han's jacket, then his shirt, bunching the fabric in his small, strong fist.

"Sir," Poe says before he forgets the rest of language, or how to breathe, "but you're _married_."

Han smiles into the kiss, hand on the back of Poe's neck now, pulling him up to his toes. The boy's hair is silky-soft, faintly damp with sweat. The curls cling to Han's fingers. "That's the idea, son."

His smile goes to laughter when Poe moans.

*

" _Really_?" Leia says when she enters their room and finds Han, shirtless, wrestling Poe - still fully dressed in his rumpled cadet's uniform, but barefoot and flushed dark and sweaty - on the floor. A squat Soccoran nargile puffs out steam a little too close to their flailing limbs for their safety or her ease of mind. She nudges it toward safer harbor with her foot while reaching up to let down her hair.

Her shawl slithers off her shoulders and slips to the floor. Poe scrambles to pick it up while Han sits up, swiping his arm over his face and reaching for the tube that is no longer at hand.

"You said take him out for a drink," he says, half-rolling over to the hookah. "Celebrate, make an occasion of it."

"A drink, yes," she says, sinking down on a chaise to take off first one shoe, then the other, and rub the numbness from her toes. "One drink, in public. Like civilized people."

Poe twists her shawl in his hands. It's lighter than any garment he's ever touched, more like avionics filaments than clothing. He's just stoned enough that he wants to rub it against his face, twine it around his head, sleep with it.

"Sorry," he says when he realizes she's watching him. "Here --"

He hands it to her and, reaching, tips a little. Han laughs at him, but Leia merely leans over and helps him up, brushes off the front of his jacket, then cups his cheek. Poe squints up at her, dazzled and breathless. 

"Senator," he adds, then can't think what else to say.

Shaking her head, she pinches his chin and looks him over. "Poe, are you --?"

"He's great," Han says. "He's _fine_ , he's raring to go, he's a damn --"

Poe swallows and, not sure what else to do, unable to look _away_ , kisses the side of Leia's hand, then the tip of her thumb. "Yes. Ma'am."

"Leia," she says, "all right?"

"All right."

She touches his hair, one eyebrow, and leans closer. When she kisses Poe, Han sighs, long and gusty, but neither of them hears it. Gulping, trying to keep it together, Poe scrambles up onto his knees, one arm pushing around her waist, the other landing heavily on her shoulder.

She's chuckling at him even as she keeps kissing him, soothing him with soft little pecks that alternate with broader, deeper probes; she opens her legs and he clambers closer, pushing himself up against her.

"There you go," Han says, reclining on one hand, rubbing his own chest lightly, almost like an afterthought. "Not everything has to be an all-out battle, right, princess?"

She turns, considering him, holding Poe's bowed head against her cleavage. "I suppose not, no."

"All I'm saying!" Han beams at her, then pushes up to his feet and crosses to them in two long strides, tugging the nargile along behind him. The tiny reaction pellets make a gravelly sound. Han puffs on the hose, makes them jump and glow, then leans in, tipping Leia's chin up to kiss her and blow the vapor into her mouth.

Poe watches from below, sees the pink swell of her lip, the jut of Han's chin, and all the fragrant steam spilling out. Somehow, he wins the hose from Han's loose grasp and takes a hit. A little too much - it threatens to close his throat and blow off the top of his skull - but he gulps hard and doesn't cough or spew.

They're kissing now and he has to duck a little out of the way, only to feel Han's arm around his neck and her leg across his back, pinning him there.

"Not so fast, junior," Han says. The nargile's hitting Poe fast, making him blink and wonder just how much time has passed. Maybe not much; Han's looking at him but Leia's still kissing Han's jaw.

"Incorrigible," she whispers, but to _Poe_ , like this is a secret they're sharing, fond exasperation over Han Solo and his shenanigans. 

Poe shrugs exuberantly, nodding, bobbing his head. If he opens his mouth, he's afraid he's going to giggle. Or something even more embarrassing. Han saves him from that, pulling him up against his chest, kissing him with his hand back in Poe's hair, fingers against his scalp. He's hungry for _something_ , kissing just as hard as he'd wrestled, and pretty soon he's dragged Poe up onto one knee, other hand on his lower back, pushing up under his uniform tunic. Poe wiggles, unwilling to break the kiss but suddenly claustrophobic in his clothes, as if they're shrinking moment by moment.

"Let him get comfortable," Leia says, reaching over, trying to help Poe fumble open the buttons. She adds, to Poe, "better get it off fast. He likes to rip his way in."

"Once!" Han says. "One time! And I was --" He rocks back, laughing. "Drunker than I am now, but not by much." He tugs on the hem of Poe's tunic. "Lady's right, better take care of business."

Poe doesn't know what they're talking about. He smiles a lot, shrugs off the smothering tunic and gets the belt open to his trousers. Finally, he's almost free, down to just the sweaty singlet and his briefs. And a raging hard-on that he's not sure what he's supposed to do about. He folds his hands in his lap and chews his lower lip, wishing for a third hand so he could take another nargile puff.

"I wonder --" Leia kneels down next to him, turns so her back is to him. "Would you?"

Poe glances at Han, who grins and shrugs, even though he must know what she means. Poe touches her back, wondering where her bra is, brushing his fingers down the filmy fabric then up her soft skin.

"The clasp, kiddo," Han says, laughter in his voice and now that Poe knows, it's obvious.

"Sorry --" He undoes the hook right below the nape of her neck - it's a delicate, almost invisible little piece, but it's held up her entire gown, because now she's turning back to him, kissing his forehead, then his mouth, and the dress has slipped open all the way to her waist. He touches one breast as gently as he can. She grasps him harder at that, pushing into his hand, a low sound travelling from her mouth to his. He does it harder, more firmly, and then decides to go for it, both hands on her breasts, fingers circling her nipples, and she seems to like it. She's making noise again, kissing him, bending him back until he's resting against Han's chest and she's climbing over him.

She's going to feel his hard-on soon and that's going to be the most embarrassing thing ever. He knows that, knows it's coming, but can't seem to stop enjoying what's happening now.

Han shifts Poe a little, opening his legs, hooking one of the kid's over his own, and watches Leia settle over him like moonlight. She's pink and white and silver, everywhere soft and curved, except for that hair, just as dark as Poe's. When they're kissing, this hard and this close, Han can't tell their hair apart.

The kid jumps and yelps when Han gets a hand inside his drawers. Leia must soothe him; Han just thinks it's funny and bites Poe's ear, tells him to calm down, and strokes him lightly, trying different grips, seeing what he likes.

Not that a kid needs much subtlety; a man doesn't, either, come to think of it.

Poe's hips keep jumping. He presses his face against Leia's neck, mumbling.

"It's all right," she tells him, and Han slows his strokes, kisses his neck nice and soft. "Let it out. It won't be the end of the night."

Poe stretches, _extends_ , in Han's hold then, twisting his neck, peering up at him, then looking back at Leia. She's sitting back on her knees, nipples hard, skin flushed, running her hands up and down Poe's thighs.

"Promise?" the kid asks and Leia shoots Han a _glance_. It's a warning, almost murderous.

 _What?!_ he mouths back over Poe's head.

She shakes her head, short and dismissive, before leaning in and kissing Poe again. "Do you want -- we could suck you? If you wanted."

He thrusts, uncontrollably, and bites at Han's chest. "That's a yes," Han says, holding him tighter. "Ma'am? Would you be so kind, or --?"

She's already bending forward, kissing Han's hand on Poe, tongue darting out to taste the pre-come all but flowing now. Poe moans and tries to twist and buck, but Han holds him still, face buried in his hair, eyes on Leia as she closes her lips around the head of Poe's cock. Her cheeks flutter, hollow and swell, and the kid _undulates_ against Han, up into her. She's looking up now, eyes warm and delighted, every bit as majestic as she ever was, even with a mouth full of cock.

Han lets go of Poe's shaft to touch Leia's cheek, trace the seal her lips make. She's a mystery, beautiful and brilliant, and he's never, ever going to understand more than a few things about her, not really. But this he can get, this they can share and enjoy and _love_ together, like they love Luke, and Sana, and even Lando. They always did have similar taste.

Han pulls Poe up a little higher, kisses him hard, fucks his mouth faster than Leia's sucking him off, so when the kid comes, much sooner rather than later, he howls into Han, against his palate, surging up and thrusting, fucking Leia's, then painting her face with shot after shot.

"Oh, no, oh, no, I'm sorry --" he just keeps babbling even as she smiles, licks her lips, and leans up to kiss Han, rub her face against his chest, into the hair there. Poe slips off as Han clutches at her, hauling her atop him, feeling her slick, wet groin riding his thigh.

"I'm so sorry," Poe says, cold, buffeted by shame, until Han stops kissing his wife and says, harshly, "Shut up, kid. Nothing to be sorry for."

"I should --"

"Stay, please," Leia says and Han adds, looking up from one of her breasts, "we're not done with you."

He watches them as the twinges and twitches of coming slow and start to fade, watches her grinding against him, her dress bunched up around her waist and the muscles in her thigh working. Han's hand is on her ass, and he's got one eye on Poe - maybe? It's hard to tell, but his eyebrow's going up and it _feels_ like he's looking at Poe.

Han looks like vector trails, possible lines of escape and egress, with the quantum beauty of engagement curving over him, around him, and Poe leans forward, planted on one hand, watching more closely. He touches the back of Han's hand, strokes the tendons working as Han grasps Leia's flesh, then the hair on Han's arm, then his leg.

Han grunts into the kiss, pulling Leia up higher, his hand disappearing under her skirts, between her legs. She moans and looks down, a little bleary-eyed, at Poe, tongue caught in the corner of his mouth, fingertips circling closer to, then backing off from, Han's crotch.

She whispers to Han, pushes him back and lies down next to him, curling around his head and chest. He groans again, buries his face in her. 

Poe's frozen there, hand flexing on Han's thigh, heat and need roiling through him so overwhelmingly that he's stuck fast. Then Han rolls his hips up, grunts again, flings out his hand blindly and cuffs Poe on the ear. The signal's clear enough and Poe takes a deep breath, reminds himself that short of biting it off, you can't, actually, fuck up a blow job. He doesn't want to just not fuck up, though; he wants -- something better, much better than that, and he has to grind the heel of his palm against himself at the thought, since he's already getting hard again and that fucking stings.

When he wraps his hand around Han's shaft, leans in to taste the head, then the wrinkled strangeness of his balls, someone moans. Probably not Han, because the sound is too high for that; it could be Leia, or Poe himself, or maybe them together. She's pushed up on one hand, holding Han between her legs, watching Poe and smiling. Maybe that's what he needed - it certainly seems to be what _she_ did, as she seems to ripple and clutch at the back of Han's skull - because he goes faster, gets more confident (or better at faking it), spit filling his mouth and running over the delicate, overheated skin on Han's shaft.

"Sweetheart, _oh_ \--" Leia says, arching back, gripping Han's neck with both hands now, and Poe tries to match the quick, sudden shakes of her body and voice, pushing his mouth up and down, just over the head, a little way down, then quickly back up as he jerks the base with his hand. 

Someday, he's always thought, he'll get good enough at this for the other guy to know exactly how much he enjoys this. He'll be able to swallow it whole, stay down with nose and forehead pressed against bush and bone, take and take and drink it down. He's not there yet. He's still coughing a little, way more enthusiastic than skilled; Han's cock jumps against Poe's palate, bumps the inside of his cheek, trembles between his lips. It's too much, there's so much to attend to, and Poe gets ambitious, pushes down farther only to feel it flex and bend a little, caught at the back of his throat. He swallows, one more time, choking slightly on his own spit, then -- _does_ it. Han swells, fills him throat to lips, throbs and shifts and Poe thinks of sim-flights, the inescapable ones, 47 TIEs on one X-Wing, when you can't survive but you might as well take as many out as you can.

Someone's touching his head, cupping it, not pushing him down, just...holding him. He jostles closer, pretty sure he's moaning again, and someone else is, too, maybe the whole world, so when Han starts to come, the noise shakes him loose and splatters come over Poe's face, down his neck, before he gets the head back in his mouth and finishes the job.

He hasn't taken a full breath in forever. His nose burns, his eyes are stung with tears, and when Han pushes him off, Poe rests his face against Han's sweaty, hairy thigh, gasping.

It's Leia's hand in his hair, gentle, combing out smaller locks, stroking the side of his ear, the bumps of his skull, so softly he starts to shiver.

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asks when he drags his head up. She has her arm around his shoulders now, helping him up, kissing his cheek. She smells like flowers, still, but sweat, too, and sex, and lets him kiss her all the way out the room to the bed. He stumbles a little, but she does, too, and he forgot to be embarrassed a while ago.

"I'll just be along!" Han calls after them. "Thanks for the invite, I feel so appreciated and included!"

"Beautiful," Leia's saying, ignoring Han and lying down next to Poe, touching him like she's meeting him all over again. He's flashing between sleepy languor and sharper, tighter need. "Look at you."

He shakes his head, trying to think of what he's supposed to say, what he wants to say, but all that - language, rational thought - is sinking away from him fast. Smiling, she gathers him a little closer, pulling his head to pillow on her folded arm, kissing him while she runs her palm lightly up and down his chest.

It's a good thing he can't think all that clearly; if Poe could stop to think about what's happening, what he's doing, he wouldn't believe it himself. Better to be caught here in adrenaline and arousal, responding and initiating without any conscious thought.

"Well, that's _pretty_ ," Han says from the foot of the bed, hands on his hips. "Sweet little couple you make."

Leia clucks her tongue, but before she can fully respond, Poe reaches for him. "Sir? What took you so long?"

"Old bones," Han says, crawling up toward them, nudging open Poe's legs and settling between them. He pinches the rise of Leia's hip. "Isn't that right, princess?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replies. "I feel fantastic."

"Well, right _now_ , sure," Han says and pushes up Poe's leg until it's bent at the knee, then lets it fall to the side. "Right now, there's a damn fountain of youth groping your tits."

"Gross," Poe says and wiggles up a little to get more comfortable. Han looks at him, eyebrow up, and Poe grins. "What? Making room for old bones."

Han's smile is dangerous. "Oh, are you? Is that what I'm supposed to believe?"

"Behave," Leia says, her voice low, but then she pinches Poe's nipple, twists it, and he gasps and thrusts up, offering himself to Han.

"You're asking for it --" Han makes it half a question, half an observation, preserving deniability just in case. He could be addressing Leia or Poe. He _could_ mean a lot of things.

"Yeah," Poe replies, plucking one certainty from the quantum cloud and making it real. He butts his head against Leia's breast and pushes up his hips again. "I am. Please?"

"So well-mannered, too," Han says, both hands on the inside of Poe's thighs now, pulling him open, stroking his balls, then the tight damp skin behind them. "You know what you're getting into?"

Leia kisses Poe, then answers for him. "He's a good boy. He knows."

Poe squeezes his eyes shut, light and heat billowing through him, _inside_ him, then opens them, exhales, and says, "I do. I am."

Han snorts a little, then drops a kiss on Leia's hip, the jut of her pelvis - where the stretch marks are faded now, more texture than anything else - before mouthing his way over the curve of Poe's inner thigh. Everyone thinks they're an expert, everyone's a hero in their own mind, but he might as well let the kid believe what he needs. Might as well, because he tastes fantastic, sweat that's not yet sour, just salty and bright, and skin softer than most girls', tight over tendons that jump in Han's teeth. Skin dark enough that it takes some work to suck up a bruise, which makes it all the more worth it, the kid's moans rising and falling, his big dick twitching, untouched and shining, his thighs skinny, roped with muscle, and so, so open. When Han _does_ get up there, tongue surveying Poe's crack, Leia shifts, too, and there's a sense of motion as she touches herself, working with him, enjoying him, which just makes Han more determined than ever to stretch this out, blow the kid's mind, undo him moan by moan, nerve unlatched from nerve all the way down the line.

The kid stutters, stuck back on **oh-oh- _oh_** , as Han works him open. Just the crack, neatly avoiding his hole, soaking him with spit, nibbling, spreading him until Poe starts pushing down, presenting his hole, his stutter ratcheting up in pitch. Han ignores it, mouths the underside of his balls instead for a while, even the base of his shaft, until he gets bored with that. When he loops back down, licks around the pucker as lightly as he can, Poe shrieks once, then bites it off, and shoves against Han's face.

"Easy, easy," Han says, not entirely believing it himself. He looks up, sees Leia pushing Poe back into the bed, hand on his chest, mouth on his, and gets back to work. He traces each spoke and ruffle of the kid's pucker, spreading him open fraction by fraction, going so slow that he feels the skin shift from just soft to that specific, swollen satin, smoother than anything, drawing him in just a bit.

At some point, Leia or Poe - probably Leia, Han would be surprised if Poe can do much more than pant and gasp and wheeze at the moment - starts jerking Poe's cock, and ordinarily this is where Han would tell them to stop, push them right against the edge, then yank them back, several times, just for the hell of it. But he's a _kid_ , he'll recover, and Han's kind of fond of the little guy already, so he leans back, replaces his mouth with a finger, and watches the show.

It's Poe, actually, desperately pulling himself off while Leia kisses him, her hand back between her legs, the two of them rising and falling and bumping against each other, with each other, together. Han adds another finger, faster now, to see if he can throw Poe off-rhythm. That's all it takes, turns out, two fingers crossing, then spreading apart, all the way inside him: Poe kicks out his legs, freezes with his ass off the bed, spilling come over his fist. Some lands on Han's forehead, his cheek, and he leans back in, cleaning up the mess, sucking Poe's hand clean, his shaft, fucking a little faster until Poe trembles head to toe, mouth open, head thrashing, no sound coming out but a long windy wheeze.

"C'mere, princess." Han's getting ambitious here, three fingers inside the kid now, craning over so he can taste Leia, suck _her_ off. Poe's freeze starts to thaw, twitches and goosebumps springing up in random patterns all over his body; he sits up on one elbow, bearing down on Han's hand, pulling up, pushing back down. Han would lay many credits on the fact that this is probably the longest the kid's taken something up here; he's experimenting, playing with the sensation, fucking exploring his own body. His lip caught in his teeth, eyes bright but narrowed, reaching down to touch Han's cheek, Leia's leg, his own softening dick.

Leia arches into Han's mouth, pushing him all the way down, cutting off his view and his air, as her clit rides his tongue and her slick runs out his mouth, down his chin. It's a second, or later, orgasm for her, all rapid shudders and quick, careening decline.

He can hear the long, sticky sounds of their kissing again. Neither can get enough, apparently; Poe's still rising and falling on his fingers, but maybe he's getting a little complacent. Han pulls them out all the way to the first knuckle and strokes his thumb up and down the short stretch from balls to hole. Poe pushes down, faster, needier, and that's good enough for Han. He twists his hand, deep, adds tongue and spit, draws it out until Poe's stretching for it, lifting and rolling his hips, sighing, hugging Leia.

Han's taking his time. Keeps taking it, lengthening every stroke, widening the gestures, loosening and wetting, and the kid's going with it, whimpering when his dick starts to harden again. Later, he's locking up into an arch, chin pointing to the ceiling like a beacon as he sucks in one shallow pained breath after another. Han licks a wavering stripe up from his hole, over his balls, right up the underside of his dick, and he comes twitching and shaking, mostly dry, his voice keening.

"That's enough," Leia says a little later, rubbing Poe's chest, pecking kisses on his shoulder. "Han, let up --"

"It's. It's okay," Poe tells her. He inhales sharply; it's like Han's stroking him inside-out, slowly turning him, undoing him pore by pore, nerve by nerve. He exhales slowly. "It's good, it's so --"

"See?" Han says, lifting his head. "Listen to the boy. He's good."

Leia kisses the knob of Poe's shoulder. "He's stubborn, you know. He'll do this all night."

Poe arches and tightens at that; he doesn't mean to. His body's here, on its own, and his brain is somewhere back out in the other room, next to the nargile.

"What do you think?" Han asks. "Had enough?"

Poe knows what the polite answer is. He also knows what he wants. He doesn't know what to say. There's too much, too many mistakes, and he doesn't want to lose this.

"Whatever you want, anything you want," he tries. Apparently that's the right thing, because Han _groans_ and starts to move, his hand shifting inside Poe, going shallow but acute, and then he's _out_ , and Poe starts to -- cry out? complain? _something_ \-- but before he can find any words, Han's holding him by the hips and pulling Poe onto his cock, and it's nothing like his fingers, it's hotter and _more_ and poking its way halfway up Poe's spine. He's liquefying around it, forming and shifting and reforming as Han thrusts home.

Leia's kissing him again, softly, shallowly, keeping half an eye on her husband. Poe flops and flails, overwhelmed, and wonders if this all the way inside out, if this is it, a net of neurons and slick aching skin exposed to the sharp air.

He's not sure if he can come again. Maybe it's the nargile, or all the times he's already come, but maybe he's just permanently coming now, rising higher and higher, Han hovering over him, hauling him up, pushing himself in, stuffing himself, pushing all the extraneous stuff out of Poe. It's steam, and moans, and it's gone, invisible, and he's just this tight floating _pleasure_.

Leia grabs him by the jaw, kisses all the way inside him, like her tongue's going to meet Han's dick, she can suck him off with Poe just a shining membrane between them, tangled up like her gown, diaphanous as her shawl, caught here around them like debris in the wake of a starcraft.

"Leia," Han is chanting, calling her back to him, reaching for her arm, her hair, _anything_ , and finally she hears him, turns from the shaking, moaning kid, and falls against Han, kissing him, holding him tight as he comes inside Poe and jerks several more times, caught so deep there's a flash of irrational anxiety that he'll never pull free.

*

But he does, eventually, and sinks back with Leia in his arms, tiny and sweaty. fragrant and sweet. When he comes back to himself, Poe's sitting up, knees against his chest, tracing patterns on the bed with his fingertip.

No, calculations. The kid is actually doing _nav equations_ to pass the time.

"Guess I didn't do it hard enough," Han says, slapping Poe's calf as he sits up, too. "If you can sit, I mean."

Poe gives him a crooked smile. "It's not comfortable, don't worry."

"Glad to hear it." Han kisses his head as he slides past, hitting the floor hard, and makes for the 'fresher.

While Han's gone, Poe stands up and tugs the coverlet over Leia, then hesitates. He ought to head back to quarters. He has no idea what the etiquette is here, but it's not as if he can ask _Han Solo_.

"You're welcome to stay," Leia murmurs, stirring a little, covering her eyes.

Startled, Poe rocks back. "I'm --"

"Why didn't your father come?" she asks, voice already much clearer. She sits up, covers around her waist, pulling the long fall of her hair over one shoulder. "To see you get your medal?"

"Oh," Poe says, looking around, as if a new exit is going to open and let him escape. "He --" Leia tilts her head, and her face is so patient and kind that it's hard to believe she was fucking him an hour ago. Less than that. "He doesn't want me to be a pilot."

She smiles at that, a little sadly, and reaches to squeeze his hand. "But you're very good at it."

He's sticky and stinky, covered with bruises and hickeys, and all the same, all he wants to do is cover his crotch and close his eyes. Hide. "I like it a lot," he tells her. "Always did."

"So he refused to come?" 

Finally, Poe finds his singlet wadded up on the floor. He shakes it out and pulls it on. "I didn't tell him about it."

Leia shakes her head. "They want to know, trust me. Parents."

"Yeah, okay," Poe says, distractedly, trying to remember where he left his trousers. "Probably."

"You're more than welcome to stay," she says. "If it makes you feel better, he'd like you to, too." She adds a jerk of her head toward the 'fresher to indicate Han. "I'm sure of it."

"I should go," Poe tells her, stepping into his trousers. He doesn't know what he wants to do. It's easier when you're making out, having sex, doing whatever the fuck _that_ just was. Then you know: you want to feel good and make them feel even better. Easy, clear.

This is murkier. There's no navigating this with anything like grace or clarity.

"All right," she replies, and opens her arms. He kneels on the bed, hugs her back, kisses her chastely. Against his cheek, she whispers something that sounds like _thank you_ or _beautiful_ or maybe both. "Hope to see you again, Poe Dameron."

In response, he salutes her. It's automatic, and he feels like a jackass _immediately_ , and for the rest of the day after he escapes, jacket unbuttoned and pulled on hastily. Nearly fifteen years later, he still wants to curl up and cover his face at the memory.

The shame doesn't stop him from meeting up with them other times over the years. He's just forever grateful that Han didn't see the salute; if he had, Poe would be all the way across Hutt space, a sexless hermit who hasn't spoken to anyone but a twig in decades.

Things could always be worse, he thinks, is the lesson here.


End file.
